


The Weekend Pancake Report

by kryptidkat



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Crack, Domestic, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sappy, T is just for language not romantical content, broadcast style fic, no beta we die like men, there's outrageous flirting ofc but nothing inappropriate I don’t think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptidkat/pseuds/kryptidkat
Summary: Out of the frypan and into the fire. Hopefully not literally.
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid (Danger Days)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	The Weekend Pancake Report

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ILoveToWatchUGrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILoveToWatchUGrow/gifts).



> Inspired by a prompt from angelface-the-robot-cowboy. Happy DD 10y anniversary, everybody!

_Kcckcjkjcchcgckghckgcgghckjgfkchgckjchkgcghj—_

“—eetings and salutations, tumbleweeds, welcome to today's episode of the Weekend Pancake Report! I’m your host, Cherri Cola, and with me as always is your cohost, the one and only Kobra Kid. After last week’s, uh, _incident_ that was the Weekend Spaghetti Report, I’ve been persuaded —”

“—Thoroughly—”

“to cook something simpler. So we are making—”

“— _Attempting_ to make—”

“—the dish for which our incredibly popular show is named. This week, anyway. We’ve got our frypan heating; we have the recipe; we have ingredients—”

“—Debatable—”

“Fine, stuff that _used_ to be ingredients; and Dr Death Defying—”

A snigger. “More like Doctor _Chef_ Defying—”

“—has been cunningly lured away from his radio equipment by a very clever little accomplice of ours in order to give us undisturbed access to the station for the next half hour and we will definitely be owing her some pancakes for the trouble, so. Let’s get cooking! Kobra?”

“Thank you, Chef! Yes. Here I have our cookbook, page 27, Classic Buttermilk Pancakes. First ingred—”

“Hold up, wait. What the _fuck_ is buttermilk.”

“Well, you see, Cherri, when butter and milk love each other very m—"

“Ha! You don’t know, do you.”

“You don’t know either!”

“Well, seeing as we have neither butter nor milk, what do you propose we use, genius?”

“Shit, uh....Jump Juice? It’s basically the same, right?”

“WHAT?? In what universe is Jump Juice a substitute for— for whatever buttermilk is, dumbass?”

“It’s a liquid, right? Same fuckin’ thing. Just put it in.”

“No!”

“CHERRI, JUST PUT IT—"

“I’M NOT WASTING MY PERFECTLY GOOD JUMPJUICE ON FLIPPIN’ FLAPJACKS.”

“Alright, alright, fine! We’ll use water then, skinflint. You’re as bad as Tommy, jeez. Ok, this says one and a half cups of water...”

Silence.

_“Psst, Cherri. So like...do you think they mean a mug or a glass?”_

_“You’re asking me? How would I know?!”_

_“You’re the head cook!”_

_“Fine. Just pick one and we’ll use it for everything, right? So the ratios don’t get wonky.”_

_“Right.”_

“Okay, dear listeners, one and a half mugs of water or whatever. Man, I really hope this..... _pans out.”_

A groan. “Kobra, please.”

“With these ingredients, it’d be a miracle if it does. You might say the odds are _stacked_ against us.”

“Kobra!”

“If they suck, you’ll be the _laughing-stack_ of the whole desert.”

“I WILL smack you.”

“Mm-hmm, where exactly did you have in mind?”

“ _Shhht_ , we’re live! Bastard. ANYWAY, what’s next, let’s see. Um. One half...tebethsbp?”

“Tub-esp?”

“Te....tee-bspft...?”

“Turblesep....?”

More silence.

“Uh...how about a _pinch_ of salt. And baking soda.”

“Right on, Chef Cola. Dump those in there...add an egg, whisk ‘em up like so...and ta-da! Batter.”

“Thank you, Chef Kobra! Now we ladle it into our greased griddle here and wait.” 

Sizzling noises.

A much longer silence than before.

“Hmm.”

“I...somehow I don’t think they’re supposed to do _that.”_

“Give me the recipe! We must have done it wrong. Buttermilk, salt, baking soda, egg...Oh Phoenix Witch, the flour.”

“You forgot the _what?!_ Oh _shiny_ job there, Betty Crocker.”

“Laugh it up, Julia Child, you didn’t remember it either! Take _that!”_

“Ow, it’s in my _eye!_ You floured fiend, have a taste of your own medicine!”

Coughing and scuffling.

“Truce, truce! Don’t waste it, do you know how many carbons I paid for this shit?”

A loud sneeze.

“Goodness. Witch bless you.”

“Oh she does, Cherri. She does.”

A brisk clapping and brushing of hands, presumably to remove flour. “Sorry about that, folks, we’ll just scrape this gunk off the griddle here. Kobra, would you do the honors?”

“Certainly, _mon Cheri._ Add two mugs of flour to the bowl, mix that up....and pour it in till it’s all over the bottom of the pan, I guess. And now we wait.”

Sizzling noises again. A companionable silence.

“Ahahaha, it’s still all over your face. Destroya you’re adorable.”

“Stop it. Stop it, Cher, we’re broadcasting—”

“No. You started it, c’mere.”

“I did not! Cher—oh. Okay."

Rustling jackets. Obnoxious kissing noises.

More obnoxious kissing noises.

“Shit, the pancake!”

“Ah fuck! If it’s burnt I’m blaming you.”

“Who me? I’m not the one who insisted on a snogging contest in the middle of a—”

“—AHEM, OKAY. SO, FOLKS, when there’s air bubbles on the surface, you take the grid—ow! Motherfucker.”

“You called?”

_“Kobra!_ Do you mind!? Sonofabitch motherfucking _ouch._ Where was I? Ok, you take a _potholder_ , _then_ you take the griddle and...carefully...flip...HA! WHO’S TOP CHEF!”

The slap of a high five. “Nice! I wanna flip one next.”

“Oh, you wanna flip? Here’s a flip. Pancake king right here, motherfuckahs!”

“Classy. I’m gonna give you a _judo_ flip if you keep being rude.”

“Bet!”

Scuffling noises. Laughing.

“Kobes, Kobes, no, I’m cooking, dammit!”

“You asked for it!”

More scuffling, brought to a halt by a quiet thump.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Now what?”

“Now, I get the rest of this flour off your face.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, you’d better get to it, the food’s going to be done s—"

A fire alarm blaring.

“Oh shiny. Um, ah, alright, tumbleweeds, we’re going to go ahead and conclude today’s broadcast, but we’ll be back soon—"

A snort. “Yeah, you might say we’ll _catch ya on the flip side_ —”

“Kobra I swear to Destroya! Okay. This has been the Weekend Pancake Report, tune in — Ohhhhh shit. The sand bucket, get the sand bucket! — tune in next time for the Weekend Creeps Report—”

_“CREEPS???_ Fuck you, it’s cre-pehs.”

“Nonono, look, page 28, _clearly_ it says creeps.” 

“Cre-pehs!”

The unmistakable sound of someone getting thunked over the head with a book. “The E is silent, assbrain!”

“Your _mom_ is silent!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

Various clanging and wrestling noises. A door slamming.

_“WHAT IN THE HELL?”_

“Shit! Doc, we can expla—”

_—kcckcjkjcchcgckghckgcgghckjgfkchgckjchkgcghj_

**Author's Note:**

> Also inspired by my real life in which my dumb ass once actually forgot to put flour in my pancake batter rip
> 
> Like all writers I thrive on attention, pls leave a comment or come say hey on [tumblr!](https://kryptidkat.tumblr.com)


End file.
